Earth Borne (30 page)

Cheiron straightened his spine, assuming a regal stance. “They are declaring we have stolen her. Should we refuse to hand her over, they will declare war. Already their army is waiting on the border. Latreus’s death was a warning, a show of power.”

If they killed the King’s guard, they could kill the King. He shuddered to think what their kingdom would be like without Cheiron. What his life would become without his father’s guidance. Damn Philaeus. He should have bloody killed him when he’d had the chance. His fists tightened at his sides. “They cannot have her, Father. Philaeus is thirsty for revenge. He’ll torture and execute her.” He snorted. “They haven’t cared all these years where she is. They don’t care now.”

Cheiron tilted his head. “I know, my son. Philaeus has long been planning this, seeking a cause the gods would approve. Unlike his father, he perceives no benefit to peace. He has his eye on centaur lands. King Pirithous knows better. We need one another.” Cheiron shook his head.

“Philaeus must have poisoned his ear,” Hector added.

Thereus frowned. “What happens now?”

“Now,” Cheiron’s voice dropped to a grave octave, “we go to war.”

***

“Philaeus will stop at nothing to avenge Kalliste.” Melita marched to the men, meeting the King’s gaze squarely. “You have no choice. You must do as he requests.”

She ignored Thereus’s low growl as she approached the King and kneeled. “My King, this is my fault.” Her hands trembled so badly she wasn’t sure she’d get through this, but she had to. She was responsible for that poor man’s death. This horror, on what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. Now it was a nightmare. Would she ever awake?

Thereus strode toward her, likely intending to drag her away, but Cheiron held up his hand to stop him. “Continue, my child.”

The kindness in his tone tore through her heart. Her shame poured from the resultant hole. “The blame is mine. I took Kalliste’s place. I broke centaur law. Therefore
I
must face the consequences.” Determination flooded her, lending her courage as she raised her head toward the King. She was ready. No other solution presented itself to her mind. Frozen, she awaited his judgment.

“
I
am centaur law.” The air stilled as the King spoke. His words shattered the silence, splintering every fiber of her being. No one in the room dared move, dared breathe. Cheiron rose and for the first time, she didn’t perceive him as an elderly, fragile man. Strength, no, power burst from his body. He appeared as youthful as a god, as timeless and as ancient. “I am centaur law,” he repeated, the words echoing off the stone walls.

Melita trembled, her body iced in terror. Cheiron unsheathed his sword from his side and slashed it into the air. Did he mean to bring the blade down upon her neck? She closed her eyes, awaiting death. Images of Lucian and Thereus flashed in her mind to ease her into the Underworld…

Nothing happened, so she lifted her lashes.

Cheiron braced the sword above his head, one hand on the hilt, one on the blade. “No one will touch this female.” He spoke, more softly, yet equal power vibrated within his words. “If Philaeus wishes for war, then war he shall have. Let it never be said of centaurs that we would cower rather than fight for what is ours. Melita is ours.”

Thereus’s strong arms gripped her and hauled her against him. She gave her weight to him, gasping. He angled her face to his, and firmly planted his lips upon hers. His kiss, the air she required.

“Don’t you ever risk yourself again,” he growled against her hair. His muscles trembled beneath her fingertips as though fury and fear mingled together. Had he doubted his father’s intentions too? She clung to him, to reassure them both that she was fine. That everything would be fine.

It wouldn’t be. Deep inside her, a dreadful forewarning gnawed. Like a parasitic plague, would it remain hidden until its damage was too late to cure?

***

Thereus released Melita and regarded his father. Cheiron ground out preparations with Agrius and Hector.

Thereus stepped forward, interrupting them. “When?”

Every conversation in the room halted. Pressing a hand to his temple, Cheiron sighed. “Dawn. While our attention was diverted, they made preparations of their own. Philaeus concealed his army using dark magic and has hidden his soldiers along our borders. Even now, they are coming.” He tapped the scroll. “We ride out at dawn to meet them. Since we won’t accept their terms, they’ll attack at once. Against Westgard first. Should they breach this castle, they will continue on to the others. He won’t stop until he has overcome us.”

Thereus scowled. Bloody Lapiths. Who were they to attack his home? He’d tear them apart with his bare hands for conceiving such a scheme. He peered at Melita, who clung to Lucian. This battle would be different from any other he’d fought. For the first time, he was protecting something so precious, he truly cared about the outcome, not about whether he survived. The desperation for victory pulsed through his veins. This was bigger than himself. Bigger than a brawl about whether he smelled like a barn. His wife and his son counted on him to win.

He drank Melita in, her beauty cutting him. The next words to pass his lips sliced his heart in two. “They cannot stay.”

Agrius grunted agreement. “True. Should the castle fall—”

“They must be safe,” Thereus finished, clenching his teeth. The pain of sending her away was too much.

Eione, brave and sure, said farewell to Agrius first, then regarded Melita and Thereus. “Will you finish the ceremony?”

She likely hadn’t meant to cut him with those words, yet still he stood, bleeding.

Agrius drew Eione aside, yet spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “It’s best not to, my love. If Thereus should fall…” He drew in a deep shuddering breath. “Melita would suffer with him. ’Tis better to spare her. Besides,” he cleared his throat, “it will give us a reason to celebrate once the war is over.” The brothers nodded grimly, no one able to contemplate celebrating.

Thereus faced Melita. “It will be all right, love.” He kissed her, hoping to reassure her, yet his comfort was futile. She didn’t protest the cancelation of their wedding, and he was glad. Whatever her reasons, Agrius spoke truth. If he should die in battle, his death would likely be gruesome, and Melita fully bonded would ever suffer with him. The memory of his death would forever haunt her. He’d witnessed such tragedy in Cheiron, in Oreius. He wouldn’t do that to her. More than anything, if he should die, she had to be able to live. For Lucian, for herself.

Thereus cursed Philaeus once more. His lustful plans for tonight were forsaken. No time remained, not even a few minutes, to make love to Melita. He might never again. This could be the last time he held her, kissed her. He recalled the previous night and sent a silent prayer of thanks he’d broken Alkippe’s rules. If anything happened to him, perhaps the gods would take pity and Melita would bear a child, a piece of him for her to remember him by. Just as Lucian was.

“We must make haste.” Eione grabbed Melita’s hand. “We’ll catch up with Petraeus and the villagers.”

“No.” Thereus frowned. “You must take the Portal to Great Meteoron. You’ll be safest there.”

Melita squeezed his hand. “Eione is right. The Portal has to transport Cheiron’s army. The caves will keep us safe. I doubt Philaeus is aware of them. We’ll make our way to Great Meteoron on foot.”

“There’s a path, through the castle,” Cheiron announced. “Alkippe will lead them.”

“Aye, my King.” Alkippe stepped forward. “I will lead them and keep them safe.”

Melita caressed his cheek with her hand. “We’ll make haste, and we’ll arrive long before dawn.” She cast him a brave smile. His Melita. He grinned back, wishing she wasn’t right. Great Meteoron was unbreachable. The fortress would never fall. With her and Lucian safe, he’d be better able to focus. He’d so much rather send her directly through the Portal, but no one would be safe if they didn’t conjure an army to rival Philaeus’s.

Thereus bent to claim her lips one last time, devouring her until they both gasped for air. Her kiss, this last kiss, needed to be enough. It had to be enough to fortify him, to fuel his body and mind with the strength to defend her. She clung to him, hungrily taking him in. A kiss of desperation, and of hope.

He finally had someone worth fighting for.

Worth dying for. And worth living for.

***

He released her and Melita fought down a scream and the urge to fling herself on the ground as Lucian sometimes did, kicking and screaming,
It’s not fair.
Because of her, these men would risk their lives. Though each of them stood brave and confident, Melita recalled their history. These men weren’t any stronger or bolder than their ancestors. The Lapith-Centaur War had decimated the centaur race.

She snorted. How ironic. The Lapith-Centaur War had its beginnings in a wedding as well. Was she to be like that other bride? The cause of a terrible war? She was no different from the bride of Pirithous the first, or Helen of Troy, for that matter.

Yes, she decided. She was precisely like Helen, whose poor choices had triggered a war. Well, that and a few men’s jealousies and ambitions. Had Helen sacrificed herself, giving up the dreams of her heart… Thousands would have lived to see theirs fulfilled.

Helen hadn’t been selfish, but she hadn’t been selfless either. Mayhap the war would have occurred regardless. Men and gods prevailed at creating causes for war. Yet, perhaps not. One woman’s sacrifice might have saved them.

Thereus scooped Lucian and clasped the boy tightly to his chest. His thick lashes glistened while he pressed firm kisses to Lucian’s hair and then set him down. “Watch over her for me, aye son?”

Lucian’s lower lip quivered. Melita forced her feet to step away from Thereus. After donning a cloak handed to her by Rhoda, she seized Lucian’s hand. One last glance at Thereus. His eyes. She might never gaze into them again. Never witness his love for Lucian and herself within them. She beat back her fears as she followed Alkippe and the other females, servants and all, down into the bowels of the castle.

Down endless winding stairwells they descended, places Melita hadn’t even conceived existed. No light cut through the empty darkness, except the torch Alkippe carried. Their footsteps echoed off the stone walls, as bleak and grim as the beating of their hearts. The farther they descended, the colder the air became. She shivered and hugged her cloak tighter to her body.

Melita followed a few women behind Alkippe, the light from her torch dissipating into the darkness so she had to squint to detect the outline of the steps. She held firm on to Lucian’s hand, though as a centaur he had the advantage over her of sure footing.

They trekked, as silent as a butterfly’s wings. No one dared speak, none had the heart to. They’d left their men behind, possibly to die. Would they ever return to their castle? Or in a few short hours, would Westgard burn, crumbling to rubble?

Even Delia’s shoulders slumped at being parted from Hector—proof she might have a heart after all.

At last, they reached the bottom. Alkippe paused at a broad wooden door and withdrew a thick iron key hanging from a cord around her neck. Placing the key inside the lock, she uttered a few words and groaned, hefting the door open. The hinges creaked from their lack of use, the eerie squeaking reverberating throughout the cavern. With her back against the door, she held it open for the women to pass.

Passing through, Melita lifted a brow in question toward the housekeeper. Even after these five years as Mistress, she hadn’t any clue about this passage.

Alkippe smiled mischievously. “The King made me swear not to reveal it except under the direst of circumstances.” Hooves swift, she sealed the door and led the women to the far left. The cavernous chamber opened into a series of tunnels. Melita made a mental note to study these tunnels one day, if…

Seeking a comforting presence, she quickened her steps to catch up with Eione. “Why didn’t you stay and fight with Agrius?” Surely an archer wasn’t at too much of a risk. Eione was an expert archer, and she’d never leave Agrius’s side unless forced to. Equally, Agrius boasted of Eione’s talents whenever the opportunity arose. Centaurs might be protective of their females, but the women who could fight, did. Had Melita possessed any warfare skills, she would have insisted on staying.

Eione shrugged. “Because when the war is over, yours won’t be the only wedding.”

“Why—” Melita halted, understanding flooding her. “Oh, Eione, congratulations!” They stopped short as Melita threw her arms around her friend, ignoring the grumbling of those behind them.

Eione lowered her lashes. “I only told Agrius last night… We agreed I wouldn’t fight. We couldn’t risk our child.” Her hand slipped to her belly.

Melita beamed at her friend. “May I?”

Eione nodded. Melita placed a hand on her friend’s abdomen and was struck with a wonderfully solid kick. Eione giggled. A centaur babe, even as a fetus, was terribly strong, and gestation was faster than for a human. They gave birth in five months rather than nine.

“He’s strong.” Melita laughed.

“He?”

“Yes, that much I can tell.” She smiled. “He is strong.”

If possible, her friend glowed even brighter. Soon they wouldn’t require a torch. Just as suddenly, her expression darkened. “I wish I’d told Agrius.”

Melita clasped her hand and squeezed it. “You will, and Agrius’s eyes will fill with tears of joy when he holds your newborn son.” She smiled with more assurance than she felt.

They resumed their trek. What if Agrius should die? Her heart ached to even consider the possibility. Because of her, Eione might give birth to her child a widow. No, not even that, for their wedding would be stolen from them as well.

Eione’s shoulders were set bravely. She was courageous, yet Agrius’s death would destroy her. Melita refused to allow that to happen. Somehow, she would put an end to this war. No one would die for her.

Once the women were safely on their way to Great Meteoron, Melita would withdraw from them and make her way back to Westgard.